Chapter 69

It was Friday and the police officers could tell that every day which had passed since Monday morning, had succeeded in stealing little by little the patience of their superior officer. There was nothing on Detective Shaw's behaviour which could persuade anyone in the police station otherwise.

The calm exterior he put on carefully every morning was parchment thin and bore the fragility of egg shells. The brows on his face were in a permanent by now knitted position, and the impending storm they were professing, was manifesting into bouts of angry temper, jerked movements, and torrents of swear words, so many of them, he had exhausted the thesaurus of profanities many times over by the end of the week.

It was evident by now, the letter he had received on Monday by Christian Blake, had an effect on him which, for reasons only known to Robert himself, managed to become the unravelling of him in a slow but steady way. He hadn't revealed the contents of the letter. And the officers were taking bets on what could the man possibly had written which had caused their boss to lose his otherwise collected and suave attitude which had managed to put him in charge of so many operations he had brought to a satisfactory - for the police - conclusion and had earned him many accolades and admiration from his peers.

What they did know so far was that Christian had disappeared. Despite having sent a note to all the police stations of inner London and the surrounding boroughs, accompanied by a photograph of him, taken at the Whitechapel Gallery, no one had come forward, no one had seen him. Not a soul. It was imperative, if not crucial for this man to be found and brought in front of Detective Constable Robert Shaw for questioning in relation to the Raven! Only the mention of the famous thief of London in the same sentence with that of Christian Blake made a lot of eyebrows rise. What was the connection between them? No one knew, since Robert had kept everything close to his chest.

In the parlance of mystery novels, the plot surrounding the disappearance of Christian Blake, thickened even further, when the police officers realised that everyone close to Christian Blake had disappeared too. His girlfriend was nowhere to be seen. Her best friends, had no idea where she may have been either. That British actor from the troupe - also missing. Apparently and according to the theatre director, Terrence Graham had taken a break to visit family and rest. He was just Mr. Barrymore's understudy and yes, he wasn't needed for the next couple of weeks.

Robert Shaw was fuming. Not only the simultaneous disappearances of the three people - who he already knew were part of this love triangle he had come to realise by the revealing yet done in earnest statement of Mr. Graham at the hospital - made him very suspicious to say the least, as he distrusted intensely the coincidental timing of those three people dropping off from the face of the earth.

The disappearance of Alice Diamond was the one who pushed his temper to pass the red line. It baffled him, the uncertainty where she could be. But given what had transpired up till that moment, her notable absence from the markets had to be connected somehow. It just had to. Christian's letter, he had learned it by heart, the many times he had come to read it; not believing at first on his eyesight, but then when he thought of everything with a cooler mind, what Christian had revealed - it may had been surprising at first read - in the end, it came to make more sense, the more he thought of it. Despite that, so many questions surrounding this letter were swimming in his mind, so much so to the point of Robert Shaw trying to get to the end of this case just by feeling his way through fog so thick, you could cut it with the knife.

"Detective Constable Shaw...

Robert; I know you are more than eager to talk to me and as difficult it is for me to deny you such a wish, believe when I say, it is for your own benefit, I am not there to see you."

He looked at the clock hanging from the wall of his office. It was nearing one o'clock in the afternoon. Robert straightened his tie. He got up, paced towards the window. He opened it. Felt the fresh breeze of summer on his face. Took a cigarette out the packet and lit it. From the first floor of the police station, he watched the stream of people walking down the street.

"I know you being a clever man, you don't need me to offer you my assurance upon your mental capabilities.

You have already figured that I am not just a painter; some idle, bohemian, bonvivant who spends his days in search of earthly pleasures.

So let's cut to the chase; Yes, I was involved in the burglary on Lord Wooster's mansion -

You don't need any other names; any other accomplice... there is none.

The wave of surprise and excitement hit him every time he recalled what came after. Same rush of adrenaline is his veins; the fine hair at the back of his neck raising like blades of grass with the sun's rise in the sky.

The Raven always worked alone..."

He turned his head towards the door of his office.

A knock;

He looked almost annoyed for having been disturbed.

He had to stop doing that though. As surprising Christian's letter was, the habit he had made the last few days of going through it in his head,

over and over,

sentence by sentence,

with an insistence which had become borderline fixation as if he was witnessing a car crash in slow motion, unable to look away - provided him with nothing useful. Not that he accepted that. Like a meticulous code breaker, he took the letter apart, word by word, searching for underlying motives, searching for clues, of where he may have been hiding. But after almost a week of going around in circles, he had to admit defeat.

Nothing and no one had provided him with something useful. His house apart from his paintings, did not hold any secrets. Same with any friend or acquaintance. No one seemed to be know where Christian was. Some, like Lord Witt for example, they looked surprised, worried even.

Had something bad happened to Christian?

His so-called friends looked more relaxed. Christian had the propensity to drop out of sight. Especially after a certain amount of debauchery - himself and Rose looked rather spent when they had left Audrey Perkins' party last Saturday - they may have left off somewhere to rejuvenate. He also left on painting trips for days on end.

So he - and his girlfriend for that matter - could be anywhere.

And the actor? The one that who did look worse for wear in the hospital... Alice? Perhaps Robert was overthinking it.

"I suspect you won't listen to me - but in the slim chance that you will - questioning everyone who knows me about my whereabouts won't help.

There is one name though that I will give and by the end of this story, I guarantee you that you Detective Constable Robert Shaw will become very famous.

Because not only you will have caught the famous Raven...

But also the most powerful gang boss in London.

None other than Charles MacDonald"

Robert acknowledged the knock at the door. A police officer came in.

"Mr. MacDonald is here to see you sir." He said.

"Let him in." Robert replied.

"Invite him in. Ask him about me, whether he knows where I am. You already know that I was frequenting the Blind Beggar, you're well aware of the illegal poker tables, Robert... don't you? He will deny he knows me... Tell him I have been known to have dealings with Alice, a romance even... there was some kissing... You have the proof already, don't you Robert?"

The door was left open for Charles to come in. Robert already knew Charles. They had met before. The way those wolf eyes looked at Robert when the man stepped in his office, this man being Alice's lover; even if Robert struggled to let the Raven to dictate his moves, there was nothing else to do but to play along.

"Mr. MacDonald..." Robert stood up to receive the hardened criminal. "Please sit." He told him and prompted him to sit down at the armchair at the other side of his desk.

"But please, PLEASE, do not under any circumstances, reveal anything else."

Isle of Barra

She had woken up for some time, even if she had kept her eyes closed.

This man who was sleeping next to her, she was afraid to open her eyes and face him,

she could stretch her arm and touch him,

hug him;

He was hers, completely hers.

As it should have been all those years ago.

She shivered to the playback of the images her mind had decided to run just to torture her. What took place between them a few hours ago relived behind those closed eyelids of hers, like flickering images lit by the light of a candle.

His touch, her sigh, their kiss, the rubbing of lips on skin, the sweat carving paths between muscles and curves.

A wave of pleasure laced with guilt lashed deep in her groin when she recalled the moment he filled her completely. Every thrust he had taken inside of her had brought her towards an orgasm of unparalleled intensity which in the end was her undoing. Tingles went up her spine, awakening her.

Soon Terry would wake up. Soon she would have to look into his eyes while -

She had no power to silence neither the replaying of their lovemaking, nor how her body reacted to that. She tensed to kill the shivers created by the thoughts in her mind. Opened her eyes. With careful movements, she got out of the bed. From the half opened curtain, the light of the setting sun beamed like a tangerine sword cutting the room into two. She took the silk robe that hang on the chair and turned towards him.

For a minute she stood just gazing at him. Not being able to take her eyes away from his naked body. Each muscle defined under his smooth skin. He wasn't as hairless as Christian was. He wasn't as skinny as Christian was either. There was a strip of dark hair between the strong pectoral muscles of his chest that fainted just below his collar bones , around his erect nipples, down his groin, having past his abdominals.

She stared at the soft outlines of bruises they hadn't discussed about yet; the soft rising and falling of his chest. The same chest her lips had grazed, it had bore the moisture of her moans. She felt hot, down to the roots of her hair. Scarlet red, like the roses on the table.

Could you turn mad with desire? She wondered.

More images sprung behind her eyes. Kissing him from his collarbones down to...

Where the bedcover had kept hidden.

Leave wet trails with her tongue around his nipples. Trace the groves of his abdomen, and down his loins with her fingertips.

Hear him groan under her caresses.

His face, his stare before he had kissed her, had taken her breath away.

Desire

Desire

Thick and sticky - she could feel it - turning her blood like honey inside her veins. Made her body perspire. She felt it buried low inside her groin; if she were to touch herself, bury her fingers down her sex, she would scream. They had given up on the impulse that had been there since the moment they met again. They played on that impulse and kept tightening the strings of their attraction - it was undeniable between them - till they snapped. The fire kept burning, and she didn't feel it was to subside any time soon.

She had to get out. Take some fresh air. Opened the door and left.

Highgate Police Station

Charles MacDonald sat opposite Detective Shaw. His gaze silent, arrogant, unwavering, it trapped all the light and it felt like you were staring down two black holes ready to swallow you whole. The man didn't become the most powerful criminal lord in London on his charming graces. He stopped at nothing, hesitated at nothing, and was ready for all, to keep his grip as the ultimate king of the underworld.

"Don't go to him. To rattle him, bring him at the police station."

Robert had serious doubts of having rattled Charles as he sat down, with the air of royalty and the coldness of a killer. However, Detective Shaw wasn't a man who let his calm exterior slip easily either. He met his eyes with a fixed stare, equal in its steadiness and determination to seek for the answers he had called MacDonald there for.

"We haven't seen each other for quite some time Charlie." Robert said to him.

"That is because I am a boring man Robert. Growing old." Charles replied with a sly smile that did nothing in warming up his face even by a little.

"Still looking good though." Robert remarked with a raised eyebrow.

His opponent half closed his eyes, while having kept them fixed on Robert with the smile turning into a mocking one.

"Can't say the same about you, Robert. Looks like your boys giving you a hard time..."

Charles condescending smirk rubbed Detective Shaw the wrong way. He knew the man was good in turning the tables like that. While Robert should have been the one to try with word games to make him annoyed, MacDonald had jumped into the ring and had started with the verbal hooks the moment the bell rung the first round.

"I see your arrogance has grown with your years." He replied. "You should check it before it turns into a problem for you Charlie."

"I hope that is not an arrestable offence, Detective."

Charles MacDonald certainly wasn't rattled. If the plan that Christian Blake a.k.a the Raven had put together to draw MacDonald down with him was as effective as his proposal to bring the man at the police station to unsettle him, God help Christian and help himself for trusting one criminal to catch two.

Robert's thoughts like a seesaw were pulling each other in opposite directions. Wanting to kill two birds with one stone could have made him a legend in Scotland Yard, but then what if he lost?

What if his trust in Christian was fed by his own ambition, and then his plan to bait that arrogant prick sitting opposite him, went completely haywire and lost both the Raven and MacDonald - the famous thief and the most dangerous criminal lord in London. He already had the Raven's surrender.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, as they say.

Right now, he wished he had the means to set that bush aflame with all the birds on it. Be done with both men, taste the success that so desperately he chased for a long time now.

"I can make it be so, very quickly Charlie... don't you worry." It was Robert's turn to spar with MacDonald's taunts.

The smile on the thug's face melted away right before the Detective's eyes. His face turned serious, like someone switched off the light inside his stare. Not that he got suddenly afraid but he preferred people not getting too comfortable with him. He put his hands on Robert's desk, pulled his body up half way, enough to lean towards the Detective, enough to bring his face close to his. His voice was not raised, in fact it was a little louder than a whisper but it was cold as a winter morning.

"You know you can't... Detective." He said slowly while his stare darted side to side inside Robert's. "And that bothers you,

like - the - itch - you - cannot - scratch..."

He stopped. Let his gaze, bold and smug, peruse Robert's face, without him being in a hurry to step back. Robert's anger was simmering behind the otherwise calm eyes on his face. Just as suddenly as MacDonald had got closer, like a switch going down, he raised his body back up, and sat down at the chair where he was sitting only five minutes ago. His eyes never let Robert though.

"But since you asked to see me and I suspectyou need something from me, go ahead and say it. As happy as I am to continue our friendly chit chat I'm a man of business and my time is precious." He concluded.

Careful of how he had to weave what he had to say, Robert took a moment, as he also leaned back on his armchair.

"What do you know about Christian Blake?" He said.

Charles did not respond straight away. Was it because he was trying to read behind Robert's motives at that moment in time... why did he want to know about Christian? He already knew that the burglary of Lord Wooster's mansion had been a disaster which led to Alice stabbing Christian and he wanted him dead. He should have listened to his gut, but Alice had stopped him. A few times in fact.

"Why you're asking?" He asked followed by a raised brow.

The ends of Robert's mouth curled up. Christian's name was enough to make MacDonald sit upright on his chair.

He tut-tutted in response. "I think it is I that makes the questions, Charlie." He said, while trying to hide the satisfaction he felt by realising that his question was not without effect. "Do you know anything about Christian Blake? A yes or no will suffice."

A minute of silence passed. Then he spoke. "I know of him."

"So you don't know him well... is that what you're saying?" Robert pressed even more.

Charles' brows furrowed above his eyes that narrowed down to slits. His annoyance starting to smell in the air.

"You may ask the questions Detective, but a certain quid pro quo should be in effect here, the way I see it... after all for you to ask me about Blake, you're implicating me in some way or another and I will not answer till I know where I may be implicated."

Robert weighted the words of his opponent. His tactic was to let only a little information at a time. Reel him in slowly.

"OK... Christian Blake, you may know or not was stabbed by trying to stop a burglar coming out of Lord Wooster's mansion three weeks ago."

Charles did not react. He lit a cigarette. Took a drag, and let the smoke out. "And?"

"He is missing..."

"You think he's been done for then?" Charles asked him, eyes half closed peering though the swirls of the tobacco smoke snaking up towards the ceiling.

"It is irrelevant to you of what I think, Charlie. All I want to know is whether you know something, anything..." Robert asked him once more, not revealing anything else.

"Why me? As I said I know of him."

"I've had people telling me he frequented the Blind Beggar." Robert said and lit a cigarette for himself too. "Now, unless you cut your ties with the basement of the Blind Beggar..."

"He plays poker on my tables." Charles came forward with the information.

"I see... nothing else? Debts perhaps?"

Charles didn't speak. He knew Robert was digging.

"Perhaps a special friendship with Alice?"

Her name felt like the bomb that fell inside the smoke stained room.

"What special friendship with Alice?" His voice turned dark. He remembered his reaction when he read the detective's report on Christian. His file was still hidden in his desk.

"She's been seen coming in and out of Blake's flat several times... for her being your girlfriend she sure spends a lot of time in his flat. Unless he's painting her portrait or something." Robert said, knowing fully well how to tighten the screws.

"Mention Alice. Mention our kiss."

"Blake and her were even seen kissing outside his flat."

"Alice is a grown woman." MacDonald said. He crushed the cigarette on the astray. If he could, he would obliterate not only the cigarette butt but the astray with it. That much he pressed the damn thing down. Robert didn't miss a think, nor a move, or a blink. Alice remained a nerve on MacDonald's ego - naked and raw. As much as he had loved her, she reminded him of a wild horse. Untamed, free. He had tried to buy her love. Up to a point, he had given herself to him. Her body most definitely. She let him do things to her, fulfil every fantasy of his with her.

Her heart?

Her heart was a different beast. Perhaps he had managed to have her heart once upon a time. He wasn't sure. You could never be too sure with Alice. Smoke and mirrors. Lately though, he felt she was drifting away from him. Whether the presence of Christian Blake in their lives coincided with Alice slowly distancing herself from Charles, was something he hadn't pondered up till that point, that minute he was sitting down in Detective Shaw's office. He knew they had kissed...

"Don't worry, it was business." Christian had said.

"Where is Alice? No one has seen her in the market for a few days now." Robert's voice sounded strangely far away. MacDonald turned his eyes back to the Detective. He wasn't there though.

Where was Alice?

Christian had taken her, apparently to keep himself safe from MacDonald's plans.

"I thought you wanted to ask me about Blake..." He cut him. By the tone of his voice, Robert realised that Charles wasn't to answer any more questions.

"I did." Robert answered.

Charles MacDonald had heard enough. He got up. There was nothing left of the smug, superior mood on his stand and face with which he had entered Robert's office a while ago. Instead, a dark heat was radiating from within his light blue eyes.

"Well, since there is nothing more I can tell you about Blake, then there is no further need for me to be here." He stated and there was nothing Robert could say that could keep the man there.

"Yes you are right..." Robert said and stood up too. "I guess when we find the one, we will find the other too, since they seem to be quite closely linked as of late." He added, banging the last nail on MacDonald's mind.

He escorted MacDonald out the police building. "If either of them show up, I'd appreciate if you let me know."

MacDonald didn't say much. Nothing in fact. He just let a grunt and left.

Robert returned to his office. It was a meeting which had kept him by the edge of his seat. Not out of fear but out of intense dislike, bordering to hate even, although Robert hesitated to acknowledge it as such. Strong feelings led to foolish mind; He tried to downplay a lot of times the intensity of how he felt. A habit of his he had cultivated for a long time and had found it helped him in order to have a cool mind which was essential for his line of work. However, recent events had tested this ability of his to the limit. Today was one of the hardest tests. He must had passed it with success given the dark mood he had managed to arouse from his opponent. One thing he was unsure of though, and in a way, that particular thought was to keep him on tenterhooks from this moment forth. Certain that the Raven had his reasons to make MacDonald angry, which would be revealed in due course, Robert also realised that he was a man ready to take things to the limit, put his life on the line if it meant that he would achieve his purpose.

By knowing that he made MacDonald suspicious that there was something between Christian and Alice

- following Christian's plan to the letter -

Robert finally understood everything. Christian faced fear head on to the point of madness. Now, the stabbing made sense. Him being the Raven, the burglary going wrong,

- he hadn't even been there, had kept only a close presence by attending the party next door -

and then when he found out that Lady Wooster hadn't attended, he rushed to help Alice, in the end, asking her to stab him so she would escape and he was to be the victim. A newfound respect for Christian rose inside him. One could say he pitied that he had to arrest him too, but the fame of the Raven was such, he would have been a fool not to bring him to justice.

No one was above the law.

Isle of Barra

A sweet numbness had sipped within the muscles and sinews of his body when he opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times, eyes towards the ceiling while he laid on his back, on Candy's bed. Her side was empty. She had got up. He took a deep breath and let the air out as if he had become part of the ocean outside the cottage.

He closed his eyes once more. Hoped to God she wouldn't feel remorse for what had happened. He sure wasn't. He hadn't even words to describe how he felt. Nor did he want to find them. Somehow, if he was to think and analyse and box his feelings inside words, he feared he would take some of their magic away.

Truth to be said -

He was still under their spell.

He had tasted the madness, having her in his arms surrendered in the most complete way, the ecstasy of making her his, the heightened state of all his senses. The fantasies that were invading his dreams for years were pulled out of their ethereal dimension and had become a reality which surpassed in the most profound way, what he had imagined making love to Candy would feel like.

He got up. Put a pair of trousers on before he approached the window overlooking the bay. There he saw her. She was sitting down on the beach, staring at the ocean. Her lone figure affected him. Behind the cold glass of the window, he had seen her once more getting away from him in the past. He had not done anything back then. Hadn't chased her, hadn't fought for them. Watched till she became a memory behind a sea of snowflakes falling from a dark sky. That decision haunted him for years after.

The trickle of worry in his heart strengthened. Like a fountain had started flooding his chest; his breath carried its weight.

She had gone out. Her feelings, just by looking at Terry sleeping while reliving their lovemaking, scared her. Stole her breath. She had to clear her head. When she came out, the sea breeze caressed her face. She took a breath, deep and desperate, as if her body had run out of oxygen. She opened her lungs, trying to fill them full with as much air they could take. The ocean rushed inside her breasts, came up to her throat, ended up behind her eyes.

She walked towards the clothes Terry had torn off her body. The life she had made for herself in London shifted the same way the sand gave way under her feet. She picked them up. The waves turned green, hang by her lashes.

Became tears;

Drew their warm paths on her cheeks, without any hindrance, without any control. Once more, nothing lay the same. All her attempts to cling to that new life stared back at her like the torn clothes she held in her hands. Terry had shuttered everything she had built around her in her attempts to get over him.

Alone, she stood.

With truth facing her as clear as a cloudless summer sky. She had come to the island with him. Unexpected as it was, his brother had sent him to be with her, to protect her from the dangers Christian had set out to fight on his own.

"Don't let him go..."

Christian's written words floated in her mind. The irony felt like a spectacular bitch to her.

Inside, she carried a secret which would change everyone's life. Terry's and Christian's. Her own life too. At that point in time, she hadn't cared much about her. She wanted to leave both Terry and Christian behind. She had wished she had stayed in Pony's home. Never having set her foot out the place she felt the safest.

They landed on the isle of Barra with Terry and she had armed herself with the decision to not let their relationship become anything more than where they stood. Determined she was, not to let him come close. To hide behind a behaviour so annoying to him, to make him want to escape her.

And yet the love she fought against, grew stronger despite everything, everything she did.

It found its way, through the tiniest gestures,

the smile which was much more than just curling lips on a face,

the stare that stayed longer on his face,

the silence which spoke in volumes of what it was unsaid,

a seed dormant in its state for years on end; against all odds it found its way through, with a strength so foreign regardless its fragility, it cracked the stone open, became alive and grew till she could not withstand its pressure to recognise-

She loved Terry.

She couldn't leave him. Even with the heavy truth she kept hidden and in spite of her initial resolution of leaving both brothers behind, after what had happened a few hours before, now it was near to impossible to say goodbye to him. Wasn't it a similar situation to the one she faced when she became aware of Susanna's need to have Terry for herself? Back then she hadn't even considered an option to stay with Terry, to find perhaps a solution.

Could she act different this time? Stay... stay with him. Find a solution together. Could she stand between two brothers she had shared a love with? Granted that the love she had for Christian was not the same. After all not two loves are ever the same. More importantly, could the brothers grow to learn and find about each other, without her presence becoming a hindrance. She would hate herself to be the obstacle that stopped either Terry or Christian form the bond between twin brothers which should have existed should they have not been robbed of it in the first place.

How life could have been different... if we weren't robbed of chances to say, do, act...

She felt him sit down next to her. She didn't turn to face him. Closed her eyes just for a moment. Shut all the tears out. She heard him say her name.

Candy...

Soft spoken, gliding on the sound of the waves, eternal in their movement. She took a breath. Felt the sway of her hair, under the ocean breeze. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards him. Her dark blond eyelashes sparkled with the remnants of the tears she shut out. His thumbs dried their paths on her cheeks. Passed over the freckles on her skin.

The silent tenderness with which he caressed her face...

A sob travelled his way straight from deep inside her heart and reached up to her throat.

I love you...

The words came out of her, a confession which waited for ten years to be spoken, to come out in the open. She tried to take a breath but she was overwhelmed. Her love for Terry like the waves of the ocean she kept hearing their sound in her ears, reverberated within her, till there was nothing else for her. A love she kept hanging on, a love she had tried to push back, extinguish it because she had lost hope.

Fresh tears came up. She opened her eyes. Was lost in the ocean eyes of the man who took her lips into a kiss which was like nothing else she had experienced before with him. The man she loved with every fibre of her being.

He held her face between his hands. She felt the warmth of his palms against her skin. Their breaths became one. Their kiss became stronger, more intense, it turned into a fire fed by tears shed; let free to consume them. His voice soft and deep, sure of what he was saying in response.

I never stopped loving you...

No other love was there for me

As with everything else between Candy and Terry, nothing followed an orderly way. Those three words which came out of Candy's lips, they were so small and simple in their origin and yet so deep and profound in their nature, they created an avalanche of more words and actions.

I tried to get over you

I couldn't do it

Confessions leaving disorderly their hiding places which lay behind forced behaviours when they pretended they were never there in the first place.

They kept hiding from each other for so long; there was a chaotic rush to say everything, to feel everything, to discover each other all at once, in a complete and absolute way. Both spoke together, on top of each other, love confessed from both, words of love stuck on wet cheeks and hot breaths; lips that tasted each other, fingers interlaced. Stares blazed with the fire they had created, left uncontrolled to burn bright.

I will never leave you again

I love you I love you I love you

Words were lost inside their mouths, between their breaths they tried to take. Fingers inside hair. Naked skin on naked skin. Thighs between each other's legs. He took her there on the beach once more. Made her his again in a union which had become frantic, balancing between the fear of not letting go and the realisation after all that time that they loved each other.

A seesaw action,

the wave that pulled back, leaving raw feelings exposed

and came back to the shore to heal them.

A love which would take a little time to get used to, to be sure that it is there. It wasn't going to go anywhere. Disappear. Leave them high and dry, in their vulnerable state. They had shed everything between them, not just clothes. Everything was spoken...

Everything apart from one last truth.

Candy wasn't ready yet. Not wanting to stop the spell they were under, she left that one last secret unspoken. No, she did not want to risk killing the seed of love that had sprouted between them finally and had grew into a tree beautiful and majestic under which they found themselves together in the tightest of embraces, surrendered to each other in body and in soul till they had become one.

No, she couldn't break the magic.

Instead she let the waves of Terry's love for her carry her away; where it was just only them existed.

On that July evening, on that remote beach, at the edge of the world.